


i reached from darkness

by blackkat



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [31]
Category: Naruto
Genre: A is very dead at the end of this, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Fix-It, Hyuuga incident, M/M, it's a, really what was Sarutobi even thinking, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: It’s Jiraiya who brings him the news, bare hours after the decision has been reached.





	i reached from darkness

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on my Tumblr: Isn't long hair a hyuga thing? tbh i'm kinda squick about pairing the younger gen with oro, but then I thought hizashi? i'm totally down for that. That way NEJI IS THEIR SON. Neji is the pretty baby. amazing. And then when Hizashi decides to sacrifice himself for his brother, Oro is like 'fuck no' and serves A's head on platter to his pretty husband.

It’s Jiraiya who brings him the news, bare hours after the decision has been reached.

(For this, Orochimaru thinks, he’ll forgive every slight and sin of their long friendship, without exception.)

“You're sure?” he asks quietly, trying not to let his voice rise the way he wants to, because Neji is asleep in the chair by the window, blanket dragged up over his nose and head pillowed on the book he’d been reading.

Jiraiya nods, face grim, a deep frown pulling at his mouth. “I—” He stops, drags a hand over his hair, sighs. “Peace is one thing. I don’t want another war to break out, either. But…”

But. Orochimaru’s hands curl over the edge of the lab table, putting faint dents in the metal. But this is family, and Jiraiya will always put family above all else. He’s never had occasion to be this grateful for it, Orochimaru knows, but he’s not going to forget this moment, no matter what happens next.

“I have to—” he starts, and then stops short, eyes falling on the vulnerable form of his beautiful son. Leverage, should the worst happen, and Orochimaru has been a shinobi long enough to have every expectation that it will.

“Go,” Jiraiya says, a command rather than a way to finish Orochimaru’s sentence. “Hiashi tried to stop him, but Hizashi knocked him out, and the clan’s keeping him sedated so he can't interfere. If you don’t help him, I don’t think anyone will.”

It’s the first time in years that Orochimaru has felt kindly towards Hiashi, and he allows himself a flicker of satisfaction as he pushes upright, stepping away. “Will you watch Neji?” he asks, meets and hold Jiraiya’s eyes so his former teammate will see just what the request means.

Jiraiya has never been as much of a fool as Orochimaru used to call him. He returns Orochimaru’s stare with a steady gaze and inclines his head. “I’ll take care of him. And if things go south, I’ll get him out of Konoha and come find you.”

Orochimaru isn’t one for sentiment, and never has been, but that moment is probably the closest he’s ever come to hugging Jiraiya. “Thank you,” he says instead, and without waiting for a response—because, knowing Jiraiya, it will be something that makes Orochimaru want to hit him, since that’s how things go between them—he turns to climb the stairs into the house.

“Good luck,” Jiraiya tells him, quiet but entirely sincere. “I'm sorry I can't help more.”

“This is more than enough,” Orochimaru returns without looking back, and keeps moving.

 

 

The handoff is happening in Frost Country, neutral ground, and alone and moving fast Orochimaru makes it there hours ahead of the Konoha squad, even though he leaves later. The Kumo nin are already there, the Raikage among them, smug and satisfied and bristling with weapons, a show of force that makes rage crawl hot and biting up Orochimaru’s spine.

In the trees, carefully beyond the range of the guards, he takes a breath. The jinchuuriki is with them, crouched near the outside of the circle, and he’ll have to be the first one Orochimaru deals with. Behind him A is speaking with one of his guards, smiling, and Orochimaru is prone to losing his temper but this fury is as cold as the arctic, as devastating as an avalanche.

Hizashi is _his_ , the first in decades to _see_ him, even when others turned away.

_They can't have him._

This is every misguided and reckless idea Orochimaru has ever had, smashed together and magnified by the power of ten, but war and death and failure matter nothing at all in the face of hearing that his husband sacrificed himself without even letting Orochimaru know. Without _facing_ him, because he knows Orochimaru would never agree, and that he isn’t as easily dealt with as Hiashi. There will be a reckoning for that, but only when Orochimaru is _absolutely certain_ all threats have been dealt with.

He takes a breath and drops from the branches, shakes back the sleeves of his robe, and calls up his chakra. It boils across the clearing, sharp-edged and unsettling as a knife slashed across a bared throat, and before even Killer Bee can react Orochimaru is in front of him, Kusanagi in hand, his free palm already glittering with five points of light.

“Death to warmongering fools,” Orochimaru hisses, and slams the Five Elements Seal into the jinchuuriki’s chest with all the force of his chakra behind it. Bee crumples, collapsing at Orochimaru’s feet, and Orochimaru steps around him and brings Kusanagi up in a sweeping slash that cleaves through skin and bone with equal ease.

 

 

The Konoha nin take one stride into the clearing and stop dead.

Seated on a fallen tree in the middle of the blood-soaked grass, Orochimaru coolly looks up from where he’s polishing Kusanagi’s blade with loving care. He eyes his old teacher for a long moment, then uncoils himself and comes to his feet, sheathing his sword and reaching down to pick up what’s sitting next to him.

He doesn’t look at his husband, wrists bound, standing behind Sarutobi.

“Forgive me my impetuousness, sensei,” he says, and gracefully dips to set the Raikage's severed head at Sarutobi's feet. “I'm afraid my temper got the better of me.”

There's fear in the faces of those watching him, but Orochimaru doesn’t care, doesn’t look to see if Hizashi shares their terror at the sight of him in blood-drenched robes, with streaks of it drying rust-red across his pale skin.

“Orochimaru.” Sarutobi sounds torn between exasperation and true anger. “This—you have—”

“Prevented you from making a mistake,” Orochimaru finishes for him, and lets his gaze slide past his teacher for the first time. Hizashi is staring at him, lavender eyes wide, and he looks exhausted and grief-stricken and so very pained that all of Orochimaru’s immediate anger slides away.

 _I've seen you on the battlefield, and only a fool wouldn’t fear you there_ , Hizashi had told him, one quiet night in the midst of the Third War, alone around a campfire and just come from a fight. Orochimaru had never spoken to him before, never looked at him with any thought beyond his abilities and his eyes, but that night changed many things. _But the way you keep going, even when everyone else is ready to give in and die—that’s the reason_ I _would fear you._

Hizashi has always given in too easily, and Orochimaru has never learned how to surrender. It’s in the middle where they meet that they can build something functional, but sometimes—

Sometimes a reminder that there are merits in both extremes is necessary.

“Orochimaru!” Sarutobi's voice is as sharp as Orochimaru has ever heard it, but he brushes past the Hokage without pause.

“The jinchuuriki is alive, but unable to touch his chakra,” he says disinterestedly. “Use him as a bargaining chip. Kumo will not want to lose its only adult human sacrifice.”

Hizashi looks at him as he comes to a halt before the man, and there's something in his face that feels like wonder and tentative joy. “You—for me?” he whispers, and raises bound hands.

Orochimaru catches them, presses his cheek to one callused palm and lets his lashes dip to hide the violence he’s sure is still burning in his eyes. “Neji would be heartbroken,” he says, and feels the faint flinch Hizashi gives without remorse. Hizashi knows by now that Orochimaru has never been one to fight fair; he should have expected nothing less.

“I couldn’t be the cause of you going back to war,” Hizashi says, and Orochimaru glances up to meet his tired eyes. “Not with Neji. Not after it almost broke you last time. I would do anything to keep my family safe.”

 _My greatest hope is to find something to live for_ , Orochimaru had told him, years ago, in a tent with walls too thin and more battles looming, his hands splayed across a broad chest. Exhaustion and too little chakra, coupled with the rare intimacy—so strange with a person who didn’t shy away—had made the words as simple as a thought. _I have no reason to give in, but—_

 _Sometimes I think that I would like one_.

“So would I,” Orochimaru returns, and slices through the ropes holding him with a kunai. Instantly, Hizashi wraps his arms around him and pulls him in, drags him up against his chest and buries his face in blood-soaked hair. Orochimaru leans into his hold, feels the strength and solidity of him, and forces himself to breathe.

Even if this is the last moment before another war, Orochimaru doesn’t care. Hizashi and Neji are the only reasons he’s ever had to stop fighting, and now that he has them there’s no force in the universe that can take them away.


End file.
